Kid
by Lupa Dracolis
Summary: Robin is jealous of all the attention that the other Titans are getting from their mentors, one-shot.


**Basically, we're studying poems in English, and Simon Armitage's poem Kid inspired me to write this.**

**My Teen Titans consists of Robin, Kid Flash, Wonder Girl and Speedy**

"People! We have mail!" Wally announced, coming into the living area of the Tower. "Some for you, some for you, more for you, and lots for me!" He announced, throwing letters at the other Titans. Roy and Donna both dodged, and picked them up off the floor; Tim managed to catch all of his before they hit him. At the speed Wally was throwing, that was quite impressive! They all sat down on the sofa to read.

"Score!" Roy shouted, waving four concert tickets in the air. "Gotta love the old man!" Wanda was engrossed in a long letter from her older sister, and Wally was scoffing the chocolate that Flash had sent him. Robin flicked through his letters.

_Fan mail, junk, more fan mail, yet more of the same... but what's this?_ The letter had a Gotham stamp. Tim tore open the envelope, to reveal... a letter from Batgirl.

_Dear Robin,_

_Hope you are well! Just a heads up- Riddler was seen in your area. Nightwing sends his regards – Babs._

_Ps, so does Alfred (sends his regards, that is)_

And that was it. Robin stood up, the mail falling from his lap, and walked briskly out of the room, ignoring his team-mates' concerned questions.

A while later, Donna found him in the gym. He was busy pummelling the new punch-bag. Eventually, after a complex spinning kick, the sacking split, and stuffing poured out. Robin braced himself with his hands on his knees, panting. He then climbed up to the ceiling, where some small metal hoops hung; big enough to fit one's hand into. He quickly swung across the room and back, then somersaulted down to the ground again.

"Yeah?" He asked Donna, panting.

"Robin...is something wrong?" She asked delicately.

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong. Everything is just how it always has been. You get long descriptive letters from your sister, Roy gets tickets to whatever band is currently doing a gig, Wally gets food of some kind, and I get a note from Batgirl!" He leapt into the air, grabbed two of the hoops on the ceiling, and began doing pull-ups.

"I'm sure Batman doesn't _mean_ to-" But he interrupted her.

"Green Arrow is in the JSA, and both Wonder Woman and Flash are active members of the JLA. Br- Batman _advises_ them, and stalks around Gotham- a city whose protection he shares with Batgirl, Nightwing and Huntress! I'm _sure_ it's because he's too busy." Robin replied bitterly, voice heavy with sarcasm.

"Regardless, it's not good for you to exercise so much without a break."

"How long have I been down here?" He asked, dropping back down again.

"Oh, about five hours."

"Batman trains for six."

"Well, he's an adult. Come on, go have a shower or something and you'll feel better." And she led him out.

Tim leant against the shower wall, enjoying the hot water pounding down on his back and head. Turning the water off, he got out, dried off and got dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater. He then went over to his bed, and sat down. Getting out a notepad and pen, he wrote for a while, finally ripping out the page, and folding it over. He wrote 'for Batman' on the front, and put it square on his pillow. And with that, Tim Drake walked out of Titans Tower.

_An Hour Later_

"Robin? Hello-o-o? I know I said 'take a shower', but not for two hours!" There was a pause, and then someone else spoke.

"Dude? If you don't answer, I'm coming in!" There was no reply, so Roy opened the door, and slipped in. His eyes were immediately drawn to the neatly folded Robin uniform, including the mask and the Titans communicator. The next thing he noticed was the note. Ignoring the 'for Batman', he opened it, and read;

Batman, big shot, when you gave the order

to grow up, then let me loose to wander

leeward, freely through the wild blue yonder

as you liked to say, or ditched me, rather,

in the gutter ... well, I turned the corner.

Now I've scotched that 'he was like a father

to me' rumour, sacked it, blown the cover

on that 'he was like an elder brother'

story, let the cat out on that caper

with the married woman, how you took her

downtown on expenses in the motor.

Holy robin-redbreast-nest-egg-shocker!

Holy roll-me-over-in the-clover,

I'm not playing ball boy any longer

Batman, now I've doffed that off-the-shoulder

Sherwood-Forest-green and scarlet number

for a pair of jeans and crew-neck jumper;

now I'm taller, harder, stronger, older.

Batman, it makes a marvellous picture:

you without a shadow, stewing over

chicken giblets in the pressure cooker,

next to nothing in the walk-in larder,

punching the palm of your hand all winter,

you baby, now I'm the real boy wonder.

A poem by Simon Armitage. Think about it, Bruce.

**So, whadaya think? Review and let me know!**


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